


Accidents

by orphan_account



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Martian, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-12 05:45:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4467626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The crew was gone. They’d have taken the only communications array with them, and there wasn’t anyone coming back—not for years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Accidents

**Author's Note:**

> This is an un-beta'd fic that I wrote in an hour because I just finished reading The Martian. There are probably fuck ups all over. It's probably horrible, but it's entirely self-indulgent. Please let me know of any errors, or even general criticism! Thank you :o) Also...
> 
> It's a good book. Please read it.
> 
> I'm taking liberties with the story, and it's not going to be in the same format; I don't want to copy the book, because let's be real, I couldn't do that _it's too good_. So I'm just taking the plot and messing around with it. This will probably be updated... eventually. 
> 
>  
> 
> **GO READ THE BOOK!!!!!**
> 
>  
> 
> (Also, this is for [Scrimmage!](http://scrimmage.dreamwidth.org))

There’s a rhythmic ticking accompanied by winds louder than his significant other’s words on the day before he left Earth. An impressive achievement, but not an awards ceremony Wash wants to be around for.  The ticking is from a wayward strap beating against the new hole in his side, and the wind… well, it’s often windy on Mars. Just a few hours ago Wash had been alongside the rest of his crew, complaining about the wind.

Back when it wasn’t about to kill him.

If he was honest to himself, which he often was, he knew that he was fucked. The crew was gone. They’d have taken the only communications array with them, and there wasn’t anyone coming back—not for years.

Clenching his fists in the red soil beneath him, Wash screams as he realises just how lonely hell is.

* * *

 

Epsilon received updates whenever NASA felt like acknowledging his existence. If he wasn’t the son of the Director of the _Mother 3_ (What a dumb fucking name!)  manned mission to Mars, he wouldn’t get shit from them. They hated him, he hated them—Wash was the only bridge between the two, and it was often strained.

He’d been angry when Wash told him about the mission. He’d been yelling at him right up until the final hour, where he switched his shouting for grumpy mumbling.

Five months into the mission, he received word that Wash’s team had arrived in Mars’ orbit. Being the boyfriend of an astronaut didn’t mean shit—the press got the information before he did.

Epsilon tries to ignore the nagging voice inside of him telling him that it’s his father’s fault. He already fucking knows that.

Since he can get information on Wash’s status through the news faster than _fucking NASA connections_ , he spends most of the days after Wash’s arrival on the planet in the living room. The couch is his new best friend, the remote his new beau.

On the eighth day the crew is on Mars, the call comes too late. The news has been on the story for twelve minutes already, and Epsilon hasn’t moved a muscle.

“NASA officials have revealed just moments ago that the Mother 3 mission has been aborted due to an unexpected wind storm on Mars. Five of the crew, including their commanding officer, have made it safely back to the ship orbiting the planet, but we’re sorry to announce that astronaut and engineer…” He doesn’t need to listen to the rest. He knows it’s Wash.

For twelve minutes, the only movement is the remote sliding out of his hands. When the phone rings, it takes Epsilon six tries to turn it on; two more to actually lift it to his ear.

“Church,” it’s his father. Of course it’s his father. Only in the moment of Wash’s death would his father actually bother to call him. “I’m sorry, son, but there’s been an accident. Agent Wash—”  

Epsilon doesn’t hear the rest. The phone drops next to the remote and doesn’t get picked up for several days.

* * *

 

It’s only because he doesn’t want to ruin Wash’s side of the couch that Epsilon finally gets up to take a piss. He plods to the bathroom, banging into the wall once before managing to get to the toilet. Once finished, he looks at himself in the mirror.

He’s alive. Wash isn’t. That’s the only thing he sees, and moves himself into Wash’s side of their bed.

* * *

 

Four days after Wash’s death, Epsilon attempts to get his shit together. He makes a plan—take a shower, eat something, get dressed, go scream at NASA and shit on his father’s car. It’s not a mature plan. It’s not a plan to reach into the afterlife and pluck Wash like a fruit. But it makes him happier than he’s been in months, so he holds onto it.

He ends up dropping the plan after screaming at NASA. After getting in the car, Epsilon realises that the NASA headquarters would be full of press still. He’d be surprised that none of them were badgering him already, but he knows his father would have taken care of that.

Wash would die alone. He’d be remembered as a single man with no family instead of someone who was loved by at least one person on Earth. And definitely none on Mars!

Church calls every NASA number he could find off of Google and yells at whoever picks up the phone. Probably some innocent secretary. He doesn’t give a shit. None of it makes up for the loss of their _Agent Washington_. Even if someone could fix Epsilon, make him not care—it wouldn’t be enough. Wash wasn’t perfect, but he deserves a good life.

“I guess the word is _deserved_ ,” Epsilon knows he’s being a child as he hangs up for the ninth time in an hour.

* * *

 

“Jesus fucking Christ, even I don’t deserve this.”

Mars is impossible. After the Church family, Wash had been so sure that all of the high hurdles in life had been cleared. Being an astronaut was supposed to be a cakewalk compared to dealing with Epsilon—as much as he loved him, he wasn’t the easiest person to understand. Or talk to. Or be around.

He’d give anything to at least say good bye.

The best he can do is arrange the debris in a way that might get NASA’s attention. They’d have eyes on the base eventually, even though there was nothing either side could do. Flagging down space ships isn’t in the _highly_ esteemed book ‘Astronauts for Dummies!’

Wash has a plan. The base has enough food to last him a year if he’s careful. He’ll leave the message for NASA up for half of that. The other half will have a message for Epsilon. It won’t save his life—at this point, he’s pretty sure nothing will—but it gives him something to hold on to. He can survive six months because he'll have a chance to talk to Epsilon one last time. 

He'll need the time. He doesn't know what to say.

* * *

 

It takes NASA four months to see his message.

**I AM ALIVE. NO WAY OFF MARS. ON JUNE 3 RD MESSAGE CHANGE. NOBODY AT FAULT.**

It takes NASA four months and three days to pass along the news to Epsilon, who already knew. Epsilon also doesn’t agree with Wash—he finds many faults and tells the PR management exactly what he thinks about them.

Wash is _alive_.

Wash is stranded on a fucking planet by _himself_.

It’s at this point that Epsilon no longer cares about how he feels. The only thing that matters is that Wash is alive but _alone_ and he’s going to die alone—

There’s a call he can make. The call his father’s been wanting him to make, and part of him wonders if this is all a setup, an elaborate ruse to get Epsilon to do what the Director wants yet again.

If it’s a game? “Guess you win this round, fucker.”

Epsilon makes the call. He agrees to the bargain he’d predicted before calling. He falls asleep with his face buried in Wash’s pillow knowing that he’s done what he could to help him, and it still wouldn’t be enough. He pities himself for an hour, then gets angry on Wash's behalf once more. Fuck the guys who left him there! Fuck Wash for being so good about it! Fuck the Director for convincing him to do this, for selecting him for the mission! Fuck himself for not being nicer on his last day!

Alright, so the pity party ended up being two hours.

He had until June 3rd to stew in his own shit. The Director—father, whatever!—would be expecting him after the second message from Wash. He'd be giving up his well-earned freedom, but even as angry at the world as he is, Epsilon knows that buying Wash even seconds of time is worth it. 


End file.
